On My Knees
by SashaLikaMusica
Summary: They're unexpected - the rebel alt girl and the prim, aggressive head bitch - but Aubrey figures that's what makes them work. It's confusing for the rest of the world, but for them, it's love, and that's all they need. Pure Mitchsen fluff.


**A/N: I know, I know - what are you doing, Teddie, writing Mitchsen fluff when you have three Bechloe fics to update, not to mention a Triple Treble and everything else? I wrote it on a plane - enough said. Blind Faith WILL be updated very soon - not necessarily this week, because I'm moving in, but I'm working on it every spare minute I can, and I'm unwilling to sacrifice quality. Never fear; it will happen.**

 **Read, enjoy, and review if you feel so inclined.**

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No one in their right mind would expect Beca Mitchell to be demure, especially not when faced with Aubrey Posen, but that's the startling truth of it. Beca is challenging and stubborn during her daily life, but when it comes to her time with Aubrey, she _needs_ the loss of aggression and control. Behind the oaken doors of their bedroom, she's sweet and obedient; respectful, conscientious, and eager to please. In moments when the shadows are dim and the evening light softly illuminates the glow of Beca's steel-grey eyes, Aubrey swears she sometimes sees angel wings, soft and downy white, sprouting from the delicate skin beneath the small girl's shoulder blades.

It's surprising and unexpected, but Aubrey thinks that the quiet, humble Beca she faces in their room is a wonderful contrast to the brunette's usual obstinate, irritable exterior. This Beca is warm and open and trusting, and the effect is something like watching a flower unfold its petals in the gentle morning sun; breathtaking, and undeniably illuminating. Others would choose to describe her girl as harsh, volatile, and sarcastic, but they don't see the truth swimming behind her eyes. Aubrey used to see the same, but then she looked at Beca, _really_ looked, and now, though she doesn't think she could possibly define Beca with any of the flowery adjectives she was taught as a young child, the thought that comes most readily to her mind is that Beca – unpredictable, rash, explosive Beca – is absolutely lovely.

She's a world beyond pretty in the shine of the evening sun, and her eyes glow with such sincerity of emotion – trust and adoration and something far out of the reach of love. Whatever Aubrey feels for her, whatever any other lover feels so truly and desperately, it pales in comparison to Beca's devotion to her. Whatever love is, it is a tiny star lost in the depths of galaxies when it comes to the love that Beca has for her unexpected lover. Aubrey is no stranger to relationships; she's endured a fair few, but for the first time, she has discovered what it means to be cherished.

Beca treasures her; it's obvious from her standpoint, though perhaps not from others' – whether it be rising before her preferred hour to serve her fiancé breakfast in bed, or pressing a kiss hefty with love to the crown of Aubrey's head as they lie together, bodies entwined on the couch. She loves her, and she makes sure to prove her devotion, no matter whether it's with a simple word as they drift off to sleep or in the heated intimacy of their lovemaking, back arching up off the mattress with Aubrey three knuckles deep, curling within her, and throaty cries edging their way out of her throat. Aubrey _knows_ that she's adored, in the same way that she knows she is helpless to ever do anything but worship the beautiful woman entrusted to her trembling grasp; she knows it, hearing her own name echo in screams off the walls of their bedroom, or feeling Beca's lips close over her like her essence is a life source that her lover is determined to consume.

Beca is something sweet and unexpected, and she's _hers_ , Aubrey has to keep reminding herself, because even now, with the promise of their love wrapped around her fourth finger in a simple golden band, she sometimes can't believe that Beca chose _her_. It might seem a little odd, after how much they pushed each other's buttons in the beginning, but that was years ago, and it really only lasted for a few months before Beca finally sucked it up and admitted that she wanted to get to know her better. Now, she _knows_ that Beca is hers, undeniably and without reservation, but it still makes her blood race sometimes to think that this is _Beca_ , the girl who professed to being incapable of love; this is _Beca_ pampering her and treating her like something precious; _Beca_ giving her pleasure not for some expected exchange of give-and-take, but because she wants her to feel good; _Beca_ who cries in her presence while watching the movies that she secretly _likes_ – old ones; Cary Grant comedies and Hepburn classics that would make even the most stony-hearted of rebels crack a smile.

It's _Beca_ who packs her little notes in her lunch every day before work, and _Beca_ who carefully hangs up her nicest blouses so that they don't wrinkle in the heat; _Beca_ who flies into a panic every time Aubrey happens to catch a cold and then spends the entirety of her illness in bed with her in between catering to her night and day, insisting that she's fine, that she never gets sick, and that even if she did, it would be worth it to be able to hold Aubrey for just another minute of her life. Aubrey's begun to understand it a little more as the years go by – Beca's constant fear of being left alone. Now, she knows, it's not the Beca doesn't trust _her_ not to just up and leave one morning; she knows better than that. Rather, she doesn't trust the world – fate, karma, God, the universe, or whatever – to not tear them apart, because Beca's had so few good things in her life, and her actions are a constant reminder that Aubrey is the best thing that ever happened to her.

It makes Aubrey so sad to see her desperation, because as much as Beca tries to uphold the badass front, Aubrey is there at night when the brunette wakes up screaming and sobbing because she's dreamt that Aubrey's left her all alone. She clings to her for the rest of the night, and until late in the morning the next day, wrapping every limb securely around Aubrey's body and digging her nails tightly into pliant flesh, not to injure, but in a frantic attempt to hold on. It's sad, but even so, it's something of an honor to see her so desperate, because it means that Beca _cares_ , and caring openly isn't something that Beca does.

No matter how much Aubrey promises forever, Beca's still convinced that one day they'll be apart – has even gone so far as to say that she's afraid to marry her, to make it that one step closer to forever, only to have Aubrey go first, or maybe even worse, to go herself and then be left waiting alone in the dark for her angel to come and bring her back to the light. But with that comes a ray of warmth, because Beca has said to her on more than one occasion that Aubrey _is_ her light; she doesn't need to say it – Aubrey knows, can understand almost everything between them without words, so much so that sometimes she thinks they're horribly unnecessary – but it's still sweet to hear, and to see _my sunshine_ tattooed in graceful, miniscule letters over the exact spot in her back that Aubrey presses her fingertips to whenever she wants to feel her lover's heartbeat.

Beca is love in a single form, all-encompassing and overwhelming; abstract, but always near. It's the kind of love that spans the centuries, showcased through literature and art and the very essence of the air they breathe, but Aubrey pays the tangibility no mind. It's brilliant and blinding and a little overpowering if she gets too close, but that only makes Aubrey snuggle deeper and stare harder into the glare of the sun. It's the kind of love that Aubrey knows destroys her and creates her and rebuilds her all at once, because it's stronger a force than anything she's ever seen, yet tempting – enticing her to be overpowered, and she has no desire to resist. She wants to be pulled in, farther than it's possible to go, and she's powerless to stop herself.

People might call it strange, but it's more real than she'll ever know how to express, because yes, Beca's still sarcastic and skittish and a little rough around the edges when it comes to more tangible things, but in their shared love she's raw and faithful and honest, and Aubrey knows she'll never encounter anything more true. She thinks that this is what heaven must be; not a place or concept or secret dimension, but the honest, open things; the crinkle around Beca's eyes when she smiles, and the unhindered, yearning tug of the rope that has coiled itself forever tightly around their two souls, like a chain around a tree that gets covered and secured as the tree grows and eventually morphs into it as they become one. It might be dangerous to live with her soul so open, raw and exposed in the heat of Beca's palms, but it's the only way of existing that she chooses to consider.

Yes, they're both still a little rough around the edges, and perhaps a bit vulnerable to the pull of the universe's persuasion, and Beca still _infuriates_ her at times – she wouldn't be _her Beca_ if she didn't – but Aubrey knows that the sea could light on fire and the sky cave in at the seams, and Beca could walk through the flaming water to the end of the earth and Aubrey would walk with her, hands and souls and bodies intertwined, until the fire of the sun consumed them and they were lost to its scorching flames. Then she would blink the fire from her lashes and redouble her grip, and steel her blistered feet, and walk on.


End file.
